


How the pieces don't fit

by Bex_carma



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nogitsune Trauma, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Sharing a Bed, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bex_carma/pseuds/Bex_carma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Derek would like to go to his grave swearing that isn't the worst part, but he can't help it. Stiles incessant chatter has boiled down to cut off sentences and pained frowns, like he's still trying to decide if the thoughts and feelings are his entirely."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the pieces don't fit

   It took the Nogitsune happening for Derek to realize what Stiles meant to him. He looked at that monster, the villain wearing Stiles face, tearing his skin, marking him up from the inside out, and he felt empty. The heartbeat was always off, and it saddened him that only he noticed. The Nogitsune played with Stiles body in tiny variations. The smell of cinnamon and paper and anxiety wasn't present. His heartbeat wasn't that perpetual slightly too fast erratic beat. No, the trickster spirit made himself smell like cold concrete, like wet pavement, and his heartbeat never wavered from its measured, calculated, wrong, pace. When stiles came back he came back in pieces, some that were never found again.

    Still, Derek has to smell him, really watch just to make sure the boy is back. Because this worn Stiles, this afraid Stiles, who now knows more than anyone that this supernatural thing isn't fun, isn't a game, still has dark circles under his eyes, has sarcasm that is sharper and meaner and bloodier than it was previously, and he doesn't talk as much. Derek would like to go to his grave swearing that isn't the worst part, but he can't help it. The incessant chatter has boiled down to cut off sentences and pained frowns, like he's still trying to decide if the thoughts and feelings are his entirely. And that's how they bond, over the common fear of 'this pain might not be over.' Because Stiles thinks he killed Allison and Derek still struggles with thinking he killed his whole family so it makes sense that they would gravitate; two dark sides of different moons.

   They've been together roughly a month now, nurturing the not quite whole parts in each other so they can heal together, be better for the pack, but more importantly for themselves. Derek drops Stiles off at his front porch after their date. The boy rattles around for the right key and turns with a fake casualness, like this is all a ruse and he's been working himself up to ask for this the entire night.

   "Stay?" His voice is quiet, like Derek not hearing at all would be better than the actual probable answer, 'no'.

    "Of course," Derek drops a kiss to Stiles forehead and grabs the keys from him, expertly locating the one needed and unlocking the door.

    Stiles brushes a hand over his shoulder and then moves into the house, his body language growing softer the farther he escapes into its shadowed rooms. Derek follows him up the stairs, already unbuttoning his dress shirt. Once in the safety of his own room, Stiles begins to peel off his layers of clothes, shivering as they fall away. He dives into the nest of blankets on his bed and indiscreetly watches Derek strip down to his briefs. The werewolf nudges in behind Stiles, spooning the only slightly shorter teen and resting his nose in his hair, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and paper. Stiles grumbles something inaudible, and squirms until his face is mushed against Derek's collar bone, his open mouth breaths warm and damp against the tanned skin. They fall asleep like that, tangled and safe. Stiles screams himself awake.

   Derek only has time to register that the digital red numbers blinking at him from the nightstand read 3:31 am, and that the bed feels oddly wet, before he gets his whits and sits up to move towards Stiles who is twisting in the blankets, yelling, screaming, scratching at himself until there are bloody tracks where his uneven, bitten down nails have gouged into the skin. The werewolf is trying to talk over the boy's screams, gets behind him and sits them up against the headboard, snatches up both wrists with minimal difficulty. He pins Stiles so that his back is to his chest and uses his free hand to comb through the sweaty mop of hair on his head.

   "I'm here," Derek struggles over Stiles as he kicks out. "Shhhhh, it's Derek, you're safe, you're safe."

    After another minute or so Stiles screams calm down into whimpers, just at the tail end of his labored breaths. Derek keeps up the reassuring, "You're safe, we're in your room, we're-" Derek pauses and notices the large wet patch all over the front of Stiles underwear, Stiles must notice then too, because suddenly he's struggling again, with a fury of someone who is only slightly aware of their surroundings.

   Derek holds him tighter, ignores the grunts and whimpers to sniff the air. Urine, the room smells like urine and fear.

   "Stiles, you wet the bed," Derek is surprised, but the way he says it must come out judgmental because Stiles is furious, scent turning sour with embarrassment and guilt and pain.

   "Let me go!" He screams, and Derek does so, knowing the boy is mostly lucid, just still hurt. Stiles scrambles off the bed and stands, "break up with me if you want to, but you, but you-" he breathes and there's a hitch in his voice, the threat of tears clogging his throat and distorting the words, "but you don't get to make fun of me."

   Derek shakes his head, "Stiles, I wasn't making fun of you, I'm just surprised. It's okay that you had an accident, it's okay." The wolf moves towards his boy and pulls him in, letting him cry into his chest. "Let's run you a bath, okay? We can sleep in the guest room tonight. I'll help you clean your room in the morning." Stiles nods, sagging against his boyfriend and Derek helps guide him to the bathroom, a hand at the small of his back the entire time.

   Stiles strips and sits on the lid of the toilet while Derek draws the bath. The boy's eyes are large and watery, face blotchy and tired, pale in the florescent lights. When the water isn't too hot Stiles sinks into it, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaning against the tiled wall. Derek sits criss cross apple sauce on the floor in front, and knows that in any other situation Stiles would tease him for it.

   "Do you want to talk about the nightmare?" Derek offers softly.

    Stiles doesn't move, "The Nogitsune was back, and I was stuck inside my head again, and I relived killing Allison."

   Derek sighs, "none of that was your fault."

    Stiles laughs, something that cracks and sounds like pain, "it's different though. It isn't like I just did something that started a chain of events, I am the event, Derek. It was my body. I know how it feels, to twist a knife in Scott, to make people hurt, and the worst of it is that part of me liked that power, like the longer that 'thing'," Stiles spits the word, "was in me, the stronger the pull was to be like it." His voice is lost for a second and he coughs, "but experiencing that again, not knowing if all of this is real or not, it sucks."

   "Everyone is tempted," Derek starts from the floor, quietly, " even those who aren't human, but Stiles, you were tempted by a 500 year old fox spirit, and you still won out. You didn't succumb." Stiles looks over at Derek, eyes soft and warm, and reaches out a wet hand to trace it over Derek's stubble, resting it their on his cheek. Derek turns and kisses the younger boy's wrinkled palm. "You," Derek starts, with every ounce of passion and love he can put into his voice, "are the strongest out of all of us, the human who is proud of being human. You, Stiles Stilinksi, are lovely."

  Stiles is crying again, but they're good tears, and he launches himself at Derek, who wraps his arms around the boy's back and gets most of the tub water on the floor.    

  "Come on," Derek bumps his nose into the boy's temple, "let's dry you off and then get back to bed. We can make waffles in the morning."

    They fall asleep much like they did earlier that night, tangled in each other, warm, safe, and always trusting that the other will be their for them.


End file.
